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Untitled Santa
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the island,
not a rat was stirring, the house was silent.
The artworks were hung with loving and care,
waiting for viewers with an interested glare.
Thomas wearing his bowtie and the crew with their hats,
had just settled their brains drunk as a sunk from the Christmas nightcap.
When out on the roof there arose such a clatter,
we sprang from our seats to see what was the matter.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave the luster of midday to the artworks on show,
When, what to our blurry eyes should appear,
but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.
Out of the sleigh came a man dressed jolly and good,
he was merry, from his head to his foot.
A bundle of ornaments he had flung on his back,
and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
and hung all the tinsel, then turned with a jerk.
Laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up through the window again he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his deer’s gave a whistle,
and they all flew like the down of a thistle.
We heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out into the night,
Come and see all the goodies, I left for y’ all
Indulge yourself a present, big or small
If there is nothing you like well,
at least they’ll feed you nice and swell.
[ Alexandra Verhaest, Shanghai 2006 ] |
